|No Way Home
Author: R.J. Peterson PM
I left because I didn't need them. Didn't want them. I could live without my family. I set off by myself to brace the harsh winter of New England, then the cool summer of Maine, the rainy autumn of the UK, and four years in exile on an island in the Atlantic. That's how I got here, in this lonely cell, waiting for death to lay a cold, bony finger on my shoulder. *Explicit language*Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Hurt/Comfort - Chapters: 5 - Words: 5,642 - Reviews: 2 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 05-04-13 - Published: 09-25-12 - id: 3060952
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
WARNING: Main character is VERY Holden Caulfield-esque (if you don't know who that is, look it up :D)
Well, I'm not gonna say if this is true or not. You might believe me, and you might not. But either way, I really couldn't give two shits. I'm gonna tell you about the family I ditched (happily). But, this isn't one of those "I learned my lesson and I'll never do it again" bullshit stories. Because the way I see it, there's no lesson to be learned from this story, although, I could be just ignorant because I didn't learn jack-shit from this experience. Again, there is no lesson , because this is a real story. It might not be true, but it's real. There's a difference, the way I'm putting it. And if you learn any sort of bullshit lesson, well, I must really be ignorant. I'm not gonna make this a "once upon a time" piece of bullshit that ends with a "lived happily ever after" fairy-tale trademark, either, because there isn't any happy fucking ending, as well as no goddamn moral. So, there-fucking-fore, if you like morals and happy fucking endings, then stop reading, because this isn't much of a happy story. I really don't want to go into too much detail about myself, but I don't have much of a choice, do I? I'm fifty percent Irish exactly. I think I'm twenty percent English, a bit of French or Italian, possibly Canadian and somewhat German, and born in America. My dad is 100% Irish. No kidding. His whole family is nothing but Irish. He was born in Ireland, has red hair, the thickest fucking accent you've ever heard, the palest skin in the world, and of course, the major alcoholism. He never did anything but drink, rarely talked, never worked, he just drowned his life out in the Old Crow bottle. My mother was sorta like my dad, but not an alcoholic. She was the multi-nation one or whatever. She quit her job, Lord knows why. She never did anything but read, eat, sleep, read, eat sleep. So, naturally, your parents don't have any money, so, naturally, they don't pay bills, so, naturally, they get in trouble with the IRS or something, so, naturally, they get and fights, so, naturally, they divorce. God I hate nature. So, my mom leaves my dad, just to go with my uncle, my dad's brother. So, I hated both my parents and my uncle. After three years of this bastard, I felt like killing myself, or him, then getting caught, and sent to prison to rot like my parents pretty much have. Those choices didn't sound much appealing. So, I decided to run the fuck away. So, secretly, I packed my bags with the things I needed (which wasn't much, since I didn't have much). I crept into my mothers room and took her Road Atlas of the USA, and wrote this on a post-it note.
Mom, I'm not very happy about how my life turned out, and I'm not really excited to find out what I've got to endure in my future, so, I've decided to start a new life, and plus, I'm 18 now, so I guess I'm sorta legal. I want nothing to do with you, dad, or my uncle anymore, so please don't even try to track me down and ground me for the rest of my life, because I have a right to leave. At least, I think so. Goodbye. See you in Hell.
And, on that note, I got the hell out. And that's my introduction. I doubt if you're asking this, but why in fucks sake am I pouring my fucking heart out to some random strangers who would probably hate my goddamn guts for leaving my family? I don't know yet. I guess I'll just have to find out.